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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24126754">North Star</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/mikethelipe/pseuds/mikethelipe'>mikethelipe</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>La casa de papel | Money Heist (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Andrés and Martín knew each other since childhood, Canonical Character Death, Childhood, Childhood Friends, Everyone Is Gay, Flashbacks, M/M, Teen Angst, childhood!au, kid!AU, teen!AU</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 16:15:23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,982</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24126754</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/mikethelipe/pseuds/mikethelipe</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Bogotá once told him that, in your "dying moments", you would see your life like a movie.<br/>He's wrong, Andrés thinks absently. All he sees is Martín.</p><p>Or: in his last moments, Andrés remembers his whole life with Martin, since childhood.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Berlin | Andrés de Fonollosa &amp; Palermo | Martín Berrote, Berlin | Andrés de Fonollosa/Palermo | Martín Berrote</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>99</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>North Star</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>hi, here is the kid!au/teen!au that no one ask for 😗✌</p><p>english its not my native language so please forgive me, i'm trying i swear</p><p>comments will be rly appreciated ❤</p><p>inspired in lost stars - adam levine</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <span>"I've spent my life being a bit of an arsehole, but hey ... I think I want to die with dignity."</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He gets up and walks into the hall, guns in his hands vibrating as he shoots at the police. He hears when the commander gives the order to shoot and the bullets immediately whip him, taking him with.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>His vision seems a little blurred now as he feels the burning holes in his chest; one, two, three, four and he just loses the count.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>The blood and green lights of the sights flicker around him, red and green and red again. Bogota, always the romantic, once told him that death was painless. That in your dying moments, you would see your life as in a movie, blinking before your eyes.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He's wrong, Andrés thinks absently, counting the seconds to the moment when his back would finally hit the icy floor of the Spanish mint. All he sees is Martín</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>One.</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <b>---</b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There’s a fight in the middle of the sandbox, and the inspector is too busy with one of the students to notice, because he has wet his pants again and she is trying to get him to stop crying and take them off.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The fight is violent as it can be among first-year children. Andrés pushes the other boy straight to the floor and tries to sit on him so that he cannot get up. The smaller boy squirms, quick as a fish, raising a cloud of sand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You are terrible." Andrés tells the youngest, because he is not very good at making friends.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They end up rolling, each trying to fix the other on the ground, but the sun is hot and the sand scratches the skin and he doesn't really know why they are fighting, so their movements become a kind of staging, they throw themselves back dramatically, faking serious injuries and making explosive sounds.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The little boy's movements are convincing. His labored breathing gets louder and he slams his hand against his chest weakly, shaking his head. Confused, Andrés stops. This is not part of his game. He gets up, but the boy stays on the sand, hitting weakly. It’s no longer fun, and the smile leaves his face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He runs into the bathroom screaming for the inspector.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This had been the first time he had met Martín. He meets Ms. Berrote also on the same day, when she comes to school early to take Martín home. The inspector praises Andrés for "being alert and saving little Martín's life", but all Andrés can do is cringe and hide behind his teacher when Mrs. Berrote crouches to thank him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They don't know that it was his fault that Martín almost died, but Martín never told anyone. Instead, Martín spends the next few weeks telling everyone at school that Andrés is his best friend, because he saved his life.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Andrés lets him do it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>---</b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They are taller now, and Mrs. Fonollosa will hear them if they keep talking so loudly. Andrés hopes that the thin surface of the bed sheet above both heads will be enough to drown out the sound. Martín had made it a habit to spend many days and nights at the Fonollosa’s home (although Sergio was irritating sometimes). They approach a single lit candle, delighting in their secret midnight discussion about their favorite comic book.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Come on, tell me," Martín whispers fiercely.</span>
</p><p><span>"The Wizard is not even real"</span> <span>protests Andrés "He can't give me anything!"</span></p><p>
  <span>"Yes, but" says Martín, petulantly </span>
  <span>"</span>
  <span>if he could."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"If he could .." Andrés echoes, sighing </span>
  <span>"</span>
  <span>I don't know, Marti."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I know what I would ask for" says the youngest aloud </span>
  <span>- </span>
  <span>and Andrés shoots him a warning look, a silent request for him to speak lower "I would ask to be bigger and stronger."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"These are two things, you greedy cheater" Andrés pushes him and Martín laughs breathlessly, his eyes sparkling. Then Andrés says seriously, </span>
  <span>"</span>
  <span>There is nothing wrong with you, you know that?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"That's what Mom says… Andrés, don't be like that, I'm serious."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Andrés looks carefully at his friend, his shoulders sloping and his bones as thin as a bird. The candle threatens to blow out with heavy breaths. In front of it, Martín's shadow trembles, his skin on fire.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'm serious, too," says Andrés eventually, his stomach making small turns, and he suddenly feels like he needs to go to the bathroom.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Martín smiles then, bright as a flame. Then a corner of the bed sheet touches the candle, and their screams of alarm wake Mrs. Fonollosa immediately.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>---</b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s accidentally that he finds Martín's sketches.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Martín is in the kitchen drying the dishes when Andrés asks for help to do some homework. He had been too lazy to do it before.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I have some pencils in my bag!" Martín yells from the other room. Andrés goes through the mess and can't find a pencil, except for one embedded in a small notebook. He frantically descends the ladder and drops the notebook open, gaping as the pencil slides down the step.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was just a simple outline, but unmistakable and precise. The Barolo Palace stretched across both pages, perfectly shaded and impeccably straight. He turns over a few pages. The bank of Spain, the school building, the street outside the house.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Oh…" Martín says blandly, and Andrés looks up, his face startled.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Jesus, Marti, did you draw all this?" He traces his fingers over the piece of art lightly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Martín shrugs </span>
  <span>"</span>
  <span>Pass the time."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Andrés gives a low whistle, shaking his head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You are going to be an architect someday, or an engineer, or something else, friend."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now Martín is blushing, the high points of his cheeks coloring. He lowers his head a little, embarrassed but obviously satisfied, while Andrés hands the sketchbook in his hands.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You think?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I know talent when I see it" declares the tallest, smiling.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"It's not much, I just make buildings, people are much more difficult, I need a lot more practice."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You could practice on me."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Martín blushes more and throws the forgotten pencil at him, which he still picks up.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>---</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He is lying on the dewy grass. The back of the shirt is almost soaked, but the night air is still warm, so he doesn't care. Martín is swinging his leg casually, making their ankles beat every second. The sky is unusually clear, and they are comfortably in the dark. Andrés feels like he can stay there forever, watching the slow rotation of stars overhead.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Martín's voice is a soothing current. He talks first about school, then about stars, space and beyond. Andrés half-listens, watching the distant stars pulsate to the rhythm of his speech.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You must learn to be guided by the North Star" Martín points out </span>
  <span>"</span>
  <span>Then you will never get lost or need a compass."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Until it rains" Andrés says maliciously, but Martín ignores him. The lower one shows him the constellations, the planets, and Andrés pretends to see them too. He doesn't really do. All he can see is a bunch of lights hanging from the sky.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"My mother says that everything in the universe is connected. The moon, the stars, we are a part of everything. The universe is a being, she says, when we die, we go back to infinity, where we belong."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Andrés laughs humbly, and he gently pushes Martín's foot against his.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'm sure that I'm right where I belong."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A pause, and then silence. He can feel his own heartbeat pounding, and his head is spinning, intoxicated by the magic of the night.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Martín's breath is warm against his ear.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Andrés" he whispers, and the tallest man is already turning to face him, looking into the blue of his wide eyes. Looking at your lips, the way the soft edges are traced by the starlight. Suddenly, he feels a deep pain in his chest, hollow and needy. The Earth changes, tilts; Gravity pulling them closer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Friend's cold fingertips touching his own.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Andrés takes his hand away. </span>
  <span>His </span>
  <span>face is getting hot, even though he don’t know why. He sits down, running his hand awkwardly through his damp hair.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"It's getting late" And he's tripping over his own feet before he realizes </span>
  <span>"</span>
  <span>I see you around."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Days, weeks, months, years later, he would think about how he could have done things differently. He would think about how he should have pushed his fingers through Martín's hair instead of his own. He would wonder if Martín's lips had been cold that night, as his fingers had been. He would think to touch his lips, lightly at first, then firmer. He would think about how, instead of pulling his hand away, he should have held on tight and never let go.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>---</b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He lost all movement in his arms and legs. Whether it’s from cold or terror, he is not sure. He wants to laugh because although it’s not far to the ground, but it seems to last forever, and he wants to laugh because he is almost certain that this is all a very bad dream. He wants to laugh because it's definitely not happening, but it is, and it's not funny. He doesn't laugh.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>The lights blur his vision but he keeps his eyes open, even though he can see almost nothing. Perhaps there is a chance that everything is in his imagination.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>Two.</em>
  </b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>---</b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Why do you fight so hard if you know you can't win?" Andrés asks in exasperation, throwing his arms up in frustration as Martín approaches him with a black eye and a cut lip.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"How do you know I didn't win?" Martín asks sulkily, looking up at the top of his only good eye.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Andrés sighs and doesn't answer. Martín has a bad habit of picking a fight with people for making jokes about his height.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Not everything has to end in a fight, Marti."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I would be better if you just taught me your boxing moves, selfish idiot!" Martín hisses "Even Sérgio knows now!" Pushing him next. Andrés dodges easily and shakes his head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"No" he says lightly, smiling </span>
  <span>"</span>
  <span>It's really fun to see you fight like a girl."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He changes his mind soon after. It’s about three weeks later and Martín should meet him at the theater at 8pm. Andrés waits half an hour for him, then sighs angrily and heads out to Martín's house. He must have slept again, or forgot.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He doesn't know what makes him go in there, but he does, choosing to cut his way through a particularly narrow alley. The alley is dark and away from the nearest street lamp, so all he can see is a pair of shadows, moving quickly. Then he hears a silent cry and the unmistakable sounds of meat hitting flesh.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Instinctively, he leans and approaches, like a fly being drawn into a flame. He doesn't know it's Martín on the floor until he's close enough to hear what they're hissing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"That's it, cry for your boyfriend, </span>
  <em>
    <span>maricon</span>
  </em>
  <span>" one of them spits, before giving another kick.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He initially thinks about simply separating the fight and sending the aggressors away, but something about that sparks Andrés. He pulls the guy to face and punches him so hard that he feels the vibration up to his collarbone. The other two boys answer a fraction of a second later, but Andrés is ready.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>By the time he finishes them off, they are cold, their faces pressed against the oily pavement. Andrés' fingers are sore, and he later discovers a broken tooth embedded in his palm. He pulls Martín to his feet and gently picks him up, taking him home.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They don't talk about what the boys were saying. The next day, Andrés agrees to teach Martín some boxing techniques.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>---</b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Martín doesn't like Andrés' first girlfriend very much, but he smiles and plays with them anyway because he is a good friend. When Andrés finally musters enough courage to break up with her, Martín doesn't know what to say.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"She was crazy for you." He says "You were for her too, Andrés."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"How did you know?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Oh" Martín looks down intentionally, playing with his shirt </span>
  <span>"</span>
  <span>I could see."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yes. Well" Andrés tries not to get his voice caught in his throat. She was not you, he wants to say </span>
  <span>"</span>
  <span>She was not for me, I think" he says instead.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>---</b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Andrés' mother's diagnosis changes their lives. Martín may notice Andrés angry and upset, but there is nothing any of them can do at this point.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"It's just a diagnosis" he says at the end, to break the silence </span>
  <span>"</span>
  <span>She can do the treatment and then ...."</span>
</p><p><span>"And then what?"</span> <span>Andrés says categorically.</span></p><p>
  <span>Martín doesn’t answer. Among them is a pile of tests that Andrés had brought from the hospital.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After Andrés starts working to pay his mother's treatment, Martín starts trying to find a job at every opportunity, even if he is rejected at first sight half the time. They fight for it more than they should, even after Andrés starts robbing banks to try to get the necessary money, and even after Martín finds out what he's doing. He told Martín that it was only temporary because the treatments were simply too expensive. Martín offers to steal with him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You're lucky, Martín" yells Andrés, beating the kitchen dishes in his anger </span>
  <span>"</span>
  <span>You have security, you have this house, you have peace; You don't want to follow me in this shit. Trust me, you don't want that."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You can't decide what I want!" Martín yells back.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>---</b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Martín, Andrés thinks stupidly as he falls. I'm sorry</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>Three.</em>
  </b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>---</b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"I didn't know you were still doing this" says Andrés, raising his eyebrows in surprise.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Martín jumps to his feet with a shout, dropping his pencil and trying to hastily close the book. He fails spectacularly, and a poorly calculated blow sends it to the ground at Andrés' feet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Andrés" he hisses, looking mortified.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>* What are you drawing? Some brilliant plan for a heist, is that why you never show me your drawings again? "</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He ignores Martín's weak protests and picks up the book, triumphantly turning it over. Then he stops laughing and stares, turning the pages slowly. Across the room, Martín swallowed aloud.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Andrés" he starts, then stops and wrings his hands wordlessly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They are all him. There is one with him standing at a door holding a gun, another from his side profile , leaning on a pine tree enjoying a rest. Another of his face, half in the shade; Another and another and another. Something is in Andrés's throat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>* You have been practicing "he says calmly. He closes the book and tosses it back on Martín's bed </span>
  <span>"</span>
  <span>Better not let Bogotá see them" he adds with humor, but not really, and then he leaves the tent.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>---</b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He watches Andrés in a way he shouldn't, but he is too drunk to care. He presses his mouth in a hard line when Andrés laughs, loud and easy, across the yard. He is very close to a girl, whispering something in her ear. She is smiling back at him, too, and it is not a sweet image.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He drinks the rest of the glass before realizing it's not his. Fortunately, Marseille is not much of a drinker, so he doesn't protest. When he looks back at Andrés, the girl's arm is around him, and they are laughing. She reaches out her other hand and curls his hair playfully, and he smiles harder. Martín's stomach turns into a hard knot.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'm going to take some air," Martín murmurs, and walks out the back door before doing something he would later regret. The cold Spanish air hits him like a sledgehammer and he realizes late that it’s raining and left his coat inside, but he is too far away to return. His clothes absorb the cold rain immediately, but that doesn't make him feel less drunk.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The world is spinning, so he leans against the doorframe and groans. Why did he have to be so stupid?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A few tears start to escape and he lets them fall, mixed with the salty drops of the sky cry.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>---</b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They have a big heist tomorrow, and they are camping at the edge of a forest. Marseille grumbles about the snow and says it will definitely get colder soon, and Andrés wishes he never needs to see the snow again. He's tired of being cold.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The makeshift tents they set up block most of the wind, but the cold rises from the snowy ground on his bones, and he can't sleep. He can tell by Martín's short and silent breaths that he's still awake, too. To his right, Bogotá snores loudly enough to bring the police to his door, and Andrés uses that as an excuse to roll closer to Martín.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I wasn't practicing, you know," whispers Martín suddenly, as if they're back in Spain again and trying to fall asleep, but failing because it's exciting to stay up late and they have a lot to talk about.</span>
</p><p><span>"What?"</span> <span>Andrés murmurs, trying to breathe a little heat into his hands.</span></p><p>
  <span>"The drawings" explains Martín.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"No" Andrés cuts hard, turning immediately. That's not fair. He thinks about that night under the stars, when they were fourteen, and how he really wanted to kiss Martín </span>
  <span>"</span>
  <span>Just no, I don't want to…"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yes" insists Martín.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bogota grunts and changes slightly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'm tired" whispers Andrés </span>
  <span>"</span>
  <span>Big day tomorrow. Are you going to let me sleep, Marti, or do you want me to fail spectacularly and our entire team to be killed?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Just let me" Martín says desperately, then his hands rest lightly on Andrés' shoulders, waist, wrists. The tallest one closes his eyes. His body seems to light up where Martín touches him, and he finds himself melting. He remains motionless and lets it happen, finally let it happen, and doesn't move away. When Martín's fingers brush his jaw, Andrés sighs and opens his eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Martín is different now. His hands are warm and massive, his shoulders wider. But his eyes are the same, soft, blue and insistent, and attract Andrés like the sea. His lips are the same, always slightly parted, trembling now when Andrés drops his gaze.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Andrés" Martín says, his voice hoarse. He looks like he's about to cry </span>
  <span>"</span>
  <span>I want to-- please."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bogotá rolls again, snorting, and Andrés winks and clenches his fists before Martín can hold his hand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"No" Andrés drowns </span>
  <span>"</span>
  <span>We can't do this again."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then he turns and puts his hands under his head and forces his eyes closed, his skin burning and his heart beating. He tries to calm himself down, cursing inwardly his stupidity, his cowardice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Martín sighs and lies down again, with his back to Andrés, as if they were back in his living room, sleeping on sofa cushions instead of packed snow.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>----</b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Martin prepared for another lonely night studying his plants. He saw Andrés out of the corner of his eye, adjusting his jacket in that calm and peaceful way.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"How am I?" Andrés asked, walking calmly towards his table.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Martín took a deep breath before leaning back to admire him, as if he were looking at a prestigious sculpture in one of the chic museums to which Andrés had dragged him in the past.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Oh, please, do you think I don't love you? I also feel that what's between us is extraordinary, unique, wonderful. And I know love, I had five wives ..."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I know that."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"... what I never told you is that, with none of these women, I felt anything similar to what I feel with you, not even remotely. We are both soulmates. But ninety-nine percent. You know, I like women very much . And you like me a lot. "</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Martín's brain was ringing alarms, he was sending out warning signals that were ignored as he entered that burning house. Martín stood up and approached Andrés cautiously.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"And what is one percent against ninety-nine? Or maybe you still don't have the courage to try?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"This 1% is a small mitochondria, but it defines desire".</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"A mitochondria ..."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Martín placed two fingers on Andrés' temples.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Where's the desire, huh? Is he here?"  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He ran his fingers over the sides of his face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Where?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He put his hand on the tallest man's neck and lost everything.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Don't worry, don't worry. Don't be afraid."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He approached gently, without making any sudden movements. He stopped for a moment to look at him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Andrés remembered the cold air of the night of years ago, remembered looking at those same blue eyes, wondering if those lips would be cold or not. He remembered the tent, remembered to back off. And Andrés didn't want to back down now, not this time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At the first touch of their mouths, Andrés wished he had never stepped back before.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You're a coward, huh? Where are you, huh?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Andrés broke the kiss and, even before he heard what he had to say, Martín knew it was over forever. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Wait, wait. I would give anything to feel what you feel. However, it is impossible. It is impossible."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hot tears began to flow down Martin's cheeks. Andrés moved away from him, looking like he was reluctant to do so. It looked like his eyes were also liquid, but he turned. His tone, always sweet, cautious and so determined to take care of Martin, was suddenly cold and determined to inflict a final stab.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I love you Martín, but my brother is right, we need to separate. We must leave the plan."</span>
</p><p>
  <b>---</b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He had been stupid all his life, Andrés realizes. All this time thinking it's his job protect Martín. It seemed so important at first, but now all he can do is wish he did it differently, all over again for the thousandth time.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Finally reaching the ground, he allows himself to have some hope.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>Four.</em>
  </b>
  <b>
    <em><br/>
<br/>
</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <span>---</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>He hasn't died yet, but it will be soon. Bogota was right about one thing: he felt nothing. The dust on his cheeks, or the movement of his legs. Not his fingertips. Turning his head slowly, he tries to see something around.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He hears a police officer approaching him and examining his body and saying out loud that he will die of blood loss soon. The commander orders that one part of the team try to go through the tunnel, while the other chases the fugitives from outside.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When asked about Andrés, he simply said to let him die.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Suddenly, Andrés feels cold. He looks up and the blue eyes find him, without blinking.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I found you," says Martín, his breath coming out in a spray of fog.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Andrés tries to speak, but coughs up blood when he tries.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>What are you doing?</span>
  </em>
  <span> He thinks desperately. </span>
  <em>
    <span>You shouldn't be here. I'm so sorry. I should have-- I should have held your hand. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>"It's okay" Martín sighs, approaching. Her cheeks are pink, her lips still incredibly soft, untouched by the local dust.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I'm dying, Marti.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>"It's okay" Martín says again </span>
  <span>"</span>
  <span>Here, feel my hand, I'm right here, it's warm, close your eyes, Andrés."</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>It's warm</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Andrés echoes faintly, his eyes falling. It's warm and his back is wet with blood. The cold covers his eyes like a blanket. White dots dance like stars.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'm thinking about that night" Martín continues evenly. His breath warms the shell of Andrés ear </span>
  <span>'"</span>
  <span>I'm sorry I didn't kiss you before."</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I'm sorry I left.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>"What can you see?"</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>The North Star.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>A low chuckle.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Don't lie to me, Andrés."</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Tell me again</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Andrés demands, desperate. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Where we go when we die.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>"To infinity" says Martín without hesitation, and Andrés could almost feel his fingertips </span>
  <span>"</span>
  <span>Back to where it all started, where everything has a place, where we belong."</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>If it's true, tell me it's true - will we be together then? Will you find me?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>"I promise," says Martín, his voice like the wind.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Andrés opens his eyes, one last time, but Martín is gone.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p>
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